Truth And Bone
by Dev Nine-Asher
Summary: Set S7 After 'Showtime'. Spike and Buffy have an intense discussion about their relationship after she rescues him from the First. (SB)


**Truth and Bone**

**Author:** Dev Nine-Asher

**Précis:** Set after "Showtime". Buffy and Spike have an intense talk about their relationship after Buffy rescues him from The First's underground cavern. 

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, Joss owns everything you recognize - and probably everything you don't…

**A/N: **The title for this fic was stolen from an old Heather Nova song. This fic is also the first for me in a long while, so yeah, there are probably some mistakes – do me a favor and read over 'em, just this once. Feedback is great for my rotten character, so if ya' don't mind – good or bad - give it. 

~*~*~*~

I/I 

~*~*~*~

_There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart. ~ William Wordsworth (1770-1850)_

~*~*~*~

Spike wanted to cry. He wanted to bite and tear and kill. Being at mercy of The First and it's pet Ubervamp seemed to have made what little he'd had of himself held together shatter into two distinct pieces: one a good, conscientious man he barely knew who prayed for true death to end his torment, the other a demon who embraced death, who'd defied it, survived it, reveled in it. The split between the two was so great at times that he could barely remember his name…either of them.

He was tired, hurting, ready to go whenever The First would appear to taunt him, torture him. Every time the Turok-han dragged him down from his chains to revisit some new agony on him, he was sure that this was going to be it, this was going to be the end, because he couldn't stand it anymore, not even for Buffy. 

Somehow, though, he was hanging on. Why, he couldn't begin to understand. He just reckoned it a gift of his. Like being quiet when The First started yapping, taking on the form of Buffy and Dru, but most often, himself, and developing the ability to completely ignore it's menacing nattering on. Early on he'd made the mistake of answering it back, challenging it, pissing it off – and he'd fast learnt that all the Big Bad posturing in the world couldn't save him from it's wrath. Fact was, he was damned lucky he hadn't yet ended up with his rocks in a box, decorating some Black Market shelf somewhere. 

Yep, it was safe to say the old days were over – it had a been a long while since he'd gotten a rush from his fear, since he'd gotten his soul back, in fact. Now the fear only bred more fear, and with it, indescribable pain…it was downright humiliating, knowing he'd probably never again be the sort of Big Bad the good guys used to wet their knickers at just looking at him. Sad, that.

The manacles around his wrists were carving into flesh now, biting against sinew and hard white bone. The pain made him want to heave, but thankfully he was spared that embarrassment because, amazingly enough, his gut was as dry as dirt, despite the many drownings he'd endured not so long ago…or maybe it had been a long time ago. He couldn't recall just when; all he knew for certain was that his stupid, great sodding mess of a soul was all but crying out for Buffy, and that she was going to come for him, Turok-han or not. He knew because she'd said she had faith in him, and the least he could do in return for a gift like that was have faith in her in return. It only seemed fair.

Spike also knew that once he got out of his chains and had a couple dozen smokes, he was going to Willy's to get completely and thoroughly sloshed. Then he and the Slayer would give out a good thrashing, happily hand The First its metaphorical arse, and it'd all be over but the shouting…

~*~*~*~

"To hold her in my arms against the twilight and be her comrade forever – this was all I wanted so long as my life should last…And this, I told myself with a kind of wonder, this was what love was: this consecration, this sudden inexplicable joy, and this intolerable pain..."

~*~*~*~

Spike didn't know how much time had passed since his last moment of lucidity. For what had seemed like an eternity, he'd been lost, adrift in world of dull pain, the demon in him cringing and cursing at William's apparent need to spout romantic poetry, and his seemingly endless memory of quotes of such…

The demon paced, snarled, and interrupted his ponce of a soul in the midst of another drawn out sonnet. 

Where the bleedin' hell is Buffy!? Bitch left us, forgot us, I know she did! 

William abandoned his reciting, and responded as he always did, his voice calm and quiet and assuring. _She will come. She will come, she will come…_and out of nowhere, she was there.

It hurt to draw his head up, to look, but he sensed her, so he did. It was Buffy, or rather, The First as Buffy. She held a another curved, wicked looking dagger in her small hands, one that made his insides clench just thinking abut what further damage she'd do with it, but then he remembered that it – she- wasn't corporeal. The First was just fucking with him again…and besides, he reasoned, what else could she possibly do to him? What other torture could she visit on him that she hadn't already?

"You…you can't hurt me," Spike murmured, half to himself, "you're just a bloody…figment." He let his head drop, tired of holding it up. He was an instant away from insanity, an instant away from giving up, because it would be so much easier that way, convincing himself that despite her words, Buffy didn't really care…

Then the 'figment' was sawing at his bonds.

He looked up, comprehension dawning. There was something different about her, besides the fact that she was touching him, freeing him. There was something about her eyes, something gentle and strong and warm in them that made him feel like he had back when he'd first fallen in love with her. He felt alive again in her presence.

Spike half-smiled despite himself, his emotions in danger of overflowing, his eyes in even more danger of doing so. He moved his lips, unsure of what he might say, actually a little afraid of what might come out, what with William the Poofter hanging about, but the last of the bindings broke, and he collapsed in a quivering mass. Buffy caught him, tugged his arm around her shoulders, held him until he gained his feet on shaky legs. Her hair brushed his bare shoulder, her skin warmed his through her clothing, her scent filled his head – this was Buffy, _his_ Buffy.

Spike let her bear his weight for a moment longer, keeping his face close, his wet eyes on hers, before he sucked it up like a man, and started limping forward. It was impossible to keep the tiny, smug smile from showing up. She could deny it until the end of time, his Slayer…but she had just proved to him how much she cared for him. 

Buffy had come.

~*~*~*~

By the time Buffy limped back to the house at Revello Drive, she was carrying the vampire's full weight – Spike had long-since passed out – and with everything else she'd put her body through that night, she was definitely feeling it.

Buffy paused, wincing, muscles screaming, at the front steps, in order to adjust the heavy burden on her shoulder for what was usually an effortless short climb. Right now though, it may as well have been a trek up some mountain in Tibet.

"Spike," she said breathlessly, giving the lean male draped over her shoulder a weak jostle. "Spike, wake up – you have to help me, here. I can't get you inside…without some help."

The vampire didn't make a sound, not even so much as a grunt, which attested to how very badly he'd been hurt. Buffy shook him again, exhausted. "Spike, come on…"

The only movement that came from him was because of her attempt to nudge him into a semi-conscious state. Spike's head rolled toward her, the cool, sharp line of his cheekbone settling against her jaw, the rumpled silkiness of his short platinum curls ruffling her temple - it was a familiar feeling, one she hadn't even known she remembered until just now. Buffy was distracted from her predicament as she cautiously gave in to the urge to her rest her head tenderly against his – just for a moment. Just one moment to let down the walls and feel what she felt compelled to fight against every waking moment…

_Oh, I've missed this,_ she thought tiredly, _I've missed 'him'_, and then the weird ripple of emotion the realization brought with it made her chest ache in a way unrelated to the Turok-han's blows, made her knees abruptly, dangerously close to buckling, and completely giving way beneath her. 

A chill night wind blew against Buffy, as she stood there in front of her house, oddly thankful that no one had bothered to put on the porch light. For a long minute it was just her and Spike in the dark - quiet, private, oddly tender, with her supporting him, him dependent on her, it was one responsibility of hundreds that she was suddenly loath to give up. Buffy was very much aware of him, of his presence, as she remembered just how much she'd been through with this man, how much he'd gone through for her – and became alarmingly conscious of just how close she'd come to losing him for good this time.

What would her world be like without Spike in it?

Unsettled, Buffy took a steadying breath, and determinedly drew herself up, drawing on reserves of strength that weren't there. She tightened her arm around Spike's blood and sweat slick waist, and closed her hand over his forearm, careful to stay above the torn flesh of his wrist as she sighed and moved forward in an ungraceful, very unwieldy lurch.

"Don't worry about it, Spike," she told the unconscious vampire in a light, yet solemn tone as she maneuvered them painstakingly upwards, "I'll get us home this time."

~*~*~*~

"My _God_ – what did they do to him?"

Buffy looked up wearily from her perch on the chair next to her bed when she heard the tremulous sound of her sister's voice. Dawn stood in the doorway, her hands looped around the handles of a loaded wooden tray. A small crowd of Potentials peered in around her from the hallway, and Rhona gasped at the sight of the bloodied and broken nude vampire half-covered by Buffy's fern-green-and-cranberry bedspread before Dawn blinked and scowled and rudely kicked the door shut behind her.

Buffy worked up an amused half-smile from somewhere and watched the girl cross the room towards her. She was actually surprised to see Dawn here instead of one of the others, considering her standoffish attitude towards Spike ever since he'd arrived back in Sunnydale.

Taking a glass of cool water from the proffered tray with a grateful murmur of thanks, Buffy took a long swallow as Dawn set the tray down and proceeded to try to look anywhere but at Spike. That was one thing about Dawn – she could hold a grudge like nobody's business. However, it seemed like she was trying a little too hard to hang on to it, now. She was backing away from the bed kind of nervously, stuffing her hands in the back pockets of her hipsters as if she didn't quite now what to do with them - a sure sign that the sight of Spike laying there was tugging at her conscience.

Hiding a yawn, Buffy set her glass down on the nightstand and stood up, muscles still burning from strain. She moved carefully, making sure to hide her discomfort from Dawn, and picked up a soft folded cloth from the tray. She soaked it in the bowl of warm water also on it and wrung it out before taking her chair again and beginning to cleanse some of the sticky blood and grime from Spike's face. She couldn't help but notice the new lines that had sprung up around his bruised eyes and mouth. She knew that vampires couldn't age, but these weren't marks of aging, they were lines caused by suffering and trauma.

After awhile she became aware of a hesitant movement behind her and Buffy looked over to see Dawn still standing there, wringing her hands, trying and failing to hide the look of concern on her face.

"Is-is he gonna' be alright? He looks so…thrashed."

Buffy rinsed the cloth out and started taking long, gentle swipes at the vampire's neck. "Yeah, I think he will," she answered softly, and then a wave of dizziness swept over her and she brought both hands to her head to steady it – the heavy, coppery scent of Spike's blood on the cloth in her hand made her feel ill.

A tug on the cloth made her look up. Dawn stood there with an expression of sheepish concern. "Hey," she said carefully, "why don't you let me help you. I'll be all nurse-Dawnie and make with the liquid bandages and whatnot, alright? You just take care of the uh, cleaning and…stuff." She motioned at the bed with six shades of pink blooming in her cheeks. 

Buffy nodded and went on washing, green eyes darting upwards once when she wasn't as gentle as she meant to be around one of the symbols carved into his abs. Spike groaned in pain, a ridge of muscle springing out along his jaw, the slight lines on either side of his mouth deepening. The sound was heart breaking, and Buffy knew from the way Dawn's fine brows creased that she wasn't the only one affected.

"He feels so cold. Was he always this - ?"

Dismissing the fact that it was hardly an unusual occurrence, Buffy placed a hand on Spike's shoulder. She had to admit he felt a good bit cooler than his usual room-temp. "It's probably because he hasn't fed in a while. I'll make sure he stays covered up tonight, and feed him in the morning. Right now he's totally out of it."

They worked in silence for a while, until Buffy wearily moved to fold the sheets back to Spike's hips and her sister froze. 

Buffy looked up with eyebrows arched and couldn't quite keep a smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. "You wanna' go on to bed? I can take it from here – you're looking pretty wiped."

Dawn tore her gaze from where it had glued itself on the sleek white skin somewhere around Spike's navel, looking up at her sister with wide eyes. She literally jumped on the excuse. "Er – yep, completely wiped, here, think I will go – yeah, yawn, sleepy," she squeaked, and giggled nervously, and then clamped her lips shut and made a beeline for the door. "Night!"

"Dawn!"

The girl turned back with her hand on the knob, and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"No problem," the teen fluttered her hands and gave a controlled nod. "I – hope he feels better soon." She left then, and closed the door quietly behind her.

Buffy sighed again and looked back down on the vampire in her bed. It wasn't hard to see why her little sis had been bothered. Even battered to within an inch of his undead life Spike looked like an advertisement for mind-melting sex – just the memory of being with him was almost enough to make her over-worked brain pass-out cold, and since she didn't even have the energy to go anywhere near those thoughts, right now…

Pushing the moan-worthy memories that had sprung up from nowhere to the back of her mind, Buffy tried to focus on the task at hand before she really did end up passing out.

~*~*~*~

The sounds of hail, rain, thunder, and wind were suddenly incredibly loud in his ears. Frighteningly loud – but he still had to struggle to open his eyes, mostly because his left was nearly fused shut.

At first all he could make out was the lightning; blue, white-hot, it flashed strobe-like over him, and he wondered at how he'd gotten free, gotten outside, but then he noticed there was no hard slab of asphalt, or concrete, or stone digging into his shoulder blades, no muddied grass or slimy puddle oozing against his spine. There was instead, a soft, springy warmth hugging his back, and a layer of down comforting his front. His bruised, battered, very confused head rested on a thick cushion, the scent rising from it all crowded his senses until the discomfort in his limbs and chest faded into nothing, and only one thought remained.

Buffy. The scent of Buffy, of home, nearly lulled him back into his coma-like state, but the noise of the storm tearing across the sky outside kept him semi-conscious of his surroundings.

It was going to play hell with his already limping reputation. He'd spent the night in the Slayer's bed and hadn't even _tried_ to touch her…

~*~*~*~

The flare of a match bedside scratched in his ear. His nose twitched, offended by the acrid scent of sulfur. It smelled too much like he'd always reckoned brimstone would, at the moment, and he wasn't ready for any mini-vacation's to Hell just yet, thanks ever so.

"Spike – you're awake."

He smelled the burning of vanilla candle wax as the match was touched to wick, and saw the faint light of a gold flame against his closed eyelids. The electricity must have gone out because of the storm. 

How bright, how clear this light…this love that shines out in a shadowed world – 

Spike blinked, and then rolled his eyes. Sodding William - stupid, fuck-witted jack-ass…he fiercely told the soft, earnest voice in his head to shut-up – _again_.

"Spike? Hey."

When he finally worked up enough saliva to swallow, and speak, his voice was still a dry rasp in his throat. "Yeah…m'here, Buff."

"Do you know where you are? Can you remember anything?"

Oh, he could remember nearly everything, all right. The First, the wheel, the pentagram with the arcane symbols, and the Uberwanker ascending. He could recall with perfect clarity the sharp torture instruments, the deep, purposeful slices of the Harbingers, and the pooling of his blood on the seal below him. He could still feel the sensation of dragging on his bare back through rocks and dirt – the floor of The First's underground cavern. He could feel the explosion of pain in his sides as The First let loose of whatever mental leash it had on the Turok-han, and the vampire savagely kicked his ribcage in like an empty cardboard box before dragging him off for a nice round of drown-the-vampire…

"Spike?"

He swallowed painfully. "Still with you, luv."

"Are you okay?"

Concern - that concern in her voice was for him. It was genuine, too, he could tell, and the shredded bits of hope where Buffy's love was concerned picked themselves up from the floor of his gut and started piecing themselves back together…

_I am giddy; expectation whirls me around; _

_Th'imaginary relish is so sweet,_

_That it enchants my sense –_

Oh, bugger it all, anyway.

Spike grimaced at the fanciful turn of his thoughts, and pushed William the Nancy back into the dark corner of his being where he belonged. What the boy needed was a good mental thrashing - then maybe he'd stop his ceaseless prattle for five bloody seconds -

"Spike?" Buffy's voice was a whisper. "Are you alive?"

He managed a decent snort, but paid for it by the jarring of his ribs. "Look who you're asking, Buffy."

"Oh, right. Er - how are you feeling?"

Forcing his good eye open, he focused an annoyed, steely glare on Buffy's face, barely outlined by the single candle in the dark. "Oh, bloody _brilliant_, cheers for asking – and you?" He regretted the sarcasm as soon as he saw the pronounced thinness of her bones, the gray-ish hollows of her cheeks, the tired, dead flatness of her eyes, and the nasty, half-healed slash crossing her cheek, held shut with tape. He had seen that, back in the cavern, but he'd barely been conscious enough to acknowledge it.

Buffy looked like she'd had a pretty memorable encounter with the Turok-han herself – and he realized then that she must have, and she'd defeated it, or else he wouldn't be laying here right now.

His ruddy soul scuttled right back of it's bleak corner and made him open his mouth to apologize for his shortness, but unbelievably the Slayer presented him with a tender smile. 

Buffy weakly pantomimed a cheer, throwing her scraped fists in the air as she shook some imaginary pom-poms. "Score one for the home team," she commented dryly, "I think he's gonna' live."

~*~*~*~

Buffy stepped into her bedroom around five a.m. two mornings later, and closed the door behind her. She turned, carefully balancing the mug in her hand so as not to spill any of the liquid inside – and caught Spike standing in the middle of the shadowed space.

He was half-dressed, pale, smooth skin looking damp, his left hand raised to rub a length of toweling through the bleached, rumpled curls on top of his head. Obviously, he'd just come in from the shower.

The view brought her up short, brought a hot flush to her cheeks, but she didn't let her surprise – or pleasure – at the sight, show. There was no reason to be embarrassed; they'd gone beyond that a long time ago, and it was past time for them to stop acting like polite strangers in each others company.

He saw her coming toward him and slowly dropped the towel on the end of her bed. His blue eyes met hers, filled with a wary sort of instant awareness. "Hey," he said by way of greeting. His eyes dropped to the mug in her hands and he smiled his whole face lighting up in a way she hadn't seen before. The sweet, earnest grin softened the harsh, tired lines of his face and the transformation nearly astounded her. 

He spoke, and she could still hear the slight tremor of exhaustion in his voice. "If that's for me, you're more than a lifesaver, pet, you're a goddess."

Buffy stared at him. Ever since he'd come back to Sunnydale with his soul intact, there'd been something so innocent, yet so worldly about him that had been tugging at her heart strings. Then there was the way he looked at her – as if he truly adored her. Even when he'd seemed half-insane, or when he was angry enough with her to strangle her. She'd never seen anyone look at her that way…it seemed so strange in that instant, that she'd ever thought of him as being evil, or beneath her.

"Buffy?" Spike was looking at her askance, his scarred brow arched, blue eyes overly bright and sharp with hunger, but nonetheless concerned. "You all right?"

Against her will, Buffy felt her preoccupied gaze move down his face, past his lips, over his bare, sculpted chest with it's angry wounds, lingering at his lean, narrow hips before coming to rest on worn black denim – his jeans weren't zipped, and Spike was definitely going all _gung-ho_ commando at the moment – 

There was a curse, and her eye-candy rudely taken away from her as Spike's scratched hands hastened down to carefully tuck certain manly bits away, and tug up the zipper. The metallic rip sounded obscene in the pre-dawn silence, and Buffy started guiltily, feeling her heart give a painful thump as she tore her eyes away. _But…_

Wait, wait, wait – was he acting…shy? _Spike?_

Suddenly there was a quiet knock on the door.

Relieved for the distraction, Buffy set Spike's mug down on the vanity and went to the door, taking a deep breath. It was Xander, yawning and stretching, eyes bruised, clothes wrinkled, looking like he'd just woken up from an uncomfortable night on the couch – which he probably had.

Buffy leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms, thinking longingly that she could do for a couple of hours of shut-eye. She'd even settle for the lumpy, narrow cot in the basement right about now. "What's up?"

Xander paused in rubbing the crick out of his lower back, and cut-off another yawn. "Just checkin' in. So - how's the sleeping ugly? Didja' have to dust him yet?" 

Spike heard this and snorted lowly behind her, but he didn't say anything.

"He's actually up and about. I think he'll be just fine. Hey. Don't act so disappointed," she said teasingly when she saw her friends face fall. "Day's not over yet. Besides, you know you wouldn't know what to do with yourself if Spike weren't around."

"Uh-huh, I would! I'd throw a week long going away party. There'd be a sign and everything  - Bon Voyage, Dead Soul-man!"

Spike did respond to that. "Go to hell, Harris, you self-righteous prick!"

"My isn't he in a pissy mood. Sure he doesn't need killin'? Wait! Oooh, the bathroom is empty! Gotta' run!"

Buffy shook her head wearily and closed the door on the chaos that was four girls and Xander fighting for the bathroom doorknob.

"It's days like these I miss Riley," she muttered unthinkingly beneath her breath, just for a moment longing for the military solidarity of the man…

~*~*~*~

Spike felt his stomach begin to churn with distaste at Buffy's quiet words. "Finn? Hell," he growled, "You should count yourself lucky that he's gone. I always hated seeing you waste yourself on an ignorant git who'd never prick the surface of you, anyway, Buffy."

"You are sadly deluded."

"Maybe I am at that, but least my heart's in the right place."

"Riley was normal. I wanted normal!"

Great, now the silly bint's talking to herself...

"Normal? Buffy, this morning I woke up with arcane symbols carved into my bloody chest and my ribs crushed to a fine powder – nothing about my existence, or yours, is normal – it's not meant to be. We aren't like everyone else. We're cut from the same cloth, the pair of us. Admit it, you'd be bored to tears in two days if things were 'normal'." He jabbed a finger at her. "Don't say you dare say you wouldn't, because we both know your excuse is N.F.G."

Buffy threw her hands up, and she gnawed on her bottom lip in a way that made Spike want to offer to do it for her before she asked, "What do you want from me? Do you want to hear me admit my feelings for you? Do you want me to tell you how every time you walk away from me it causes me physical pain? How I feel like I'll die from the disappointment that hit's every time we argue, every time we hurt each other. You want the truth, Spike? Fine. I want to love you. I wish I could love you! I wish that I was free to love you, but I can't and I don't, and I'm not, don't you understand. I – can't."

Spike rolled his eyes. _Cue the melodrama!_ He felt like an actor reciting tired old lines for the thousandth time as he asked her, "Why? Why can't you?"

"Because, it would hurt more than if I just didn't," she said on a bone weary sigh. "I don't have any control over my own life, or what's going to happen to it, and you know it. The world needs me, those girls out there need me, and I can't think about my heart right now. God, don't you know how much it kills me to look into your eyes – into your _soul_ - and not be able to give you what you want? What you deserve? What I need and want to give?"

Emotions surged, crashing over him, making his skin feel icy-hot. "Buffy."

"No! What will happen if I tell you I love you, Spike, and then I lose you? What then?"

Spike swallowed, hopes running high even though he knew as well as she that this was going nowhere. It – they – just weren't meant to be.

"Contrary to popular belief, love _is_ a game, Slayer," he told her anyway. "I can tell you how to play, but it doesn't mean we'll win in the end. You just have to take that chance. Hell, they're only words, Buffy. _Say them_. Saying 'Spike, I love you' will not bring on the frigging apocalypse. Well," he amended with a frown, " not any sooner, at least."

"I can't."

"Come on!" _What load of utter rubbish has she been feeding herself?_ A ridge of muscle sprang out along Spike's jaw, and a hard, deeply cut line appeared on either side of his mouth. The demon was running hot and hard just below surface, now, and it was enjoying every minute of the heated discord. 

"You can stand there and deny it 'till doomsday, Slayer, but you're hot and bothered and obsessed with me," Spike all but snarled. "You're still turned on by every word I say, every move I make! You still want me, even more so now I've got my poncey soul back, and it just burns you, don't it?"

There was an ominous silence, and then Buffy's quavering words - "Don't ever assume you know everything about me, Spike. There are parts of me you'll never even begin to see – "

Spike snickered.

"God, I hate you sometimes."

"Oh-ho! You _hate_ me, now? Like those are strange new words, comin' from you. I'm shocked to the marrow, I am." Spike lifted his arms to gingerly slip his black t-shirt over his head, hissing and wincing as his half-healed wounds pulled. He unzipped his jeans with an informal jerk, and bit back a smile at Buffy's quiet gasp. He tucked the ends in before tugging the metal pull back up and taking up his belt. 

"I _do_ hate you, Spike."

"Well then," he drawled back, lazily drawing the pliable leather through the frayed belt loops, "if you hate me so bloody much, Slayer, why don't you just stop saving me from my inevitably bloody end? Why do you keep bothering to haul my sorry ass back into your house to recuperate? Why do you smell as if you'd welcome me inside you right now?" He lowered his head to work the silver buckle, and then looked up at her from beneath his lashes. "Answer me that, 'Chosen One'," he finished in a soft purr.

Buffy immediately stiffened, looking over at him with something like fear, and he growled impatiently. "Oh, come off it. If you asked me to slit my own bloody throat to gain your forgiveness for what I did, you know all I'd ask in return is to borrow a knife."

She spoke from between clenched teeth. "Right. I'll make sure it's a butter knife – it'll hurt more."

Spike rolled his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks more pronounced as he set his jaw in irritation. "Luv, you're perfectly safe around me, now, and you know it." He paused, couldn't help leering, "As long as you wanna' be, that is."

"How can you joke about it? You tried to rape me. You're being cruel."

"_I'm_ being cruel?" He laughed bitterly, bringing up one hand to lie over his heart as if trying to protect it. "I'm the one who changed my whole world around just for you, just to prove to you how much I love you! What do I have to do to make you understand that every time I see that night in my mind, I cringe with shame? That I don't think about it during every hour of every day and recall every nightmarish moment of it? Because, God help me, Buffy, I meant it when I said it's still all about you. I love you, so much, a-and knowing I hurt you, bruised you, frightened you…" he shook his head, emotion nearly brimming over in his eyes. "It hurts worse than anything the First could ever throw at me. I deserve everything that happened back in that cave – more, even. I know I should have died, but I'm a selfish old sod, and I had to see you again."

Buffy sniffed, raising a hand to dash away a tear threatening to fall onto her cheek. "Are you trying to make me feel bad for you?"

The impact of her watery gaze sent shivery jolts up his spine. "No!" He took a deep breath, out of habit, and carefully lowered his voice. "I just…I want you to know I'm different now. I really am. You have to know that I'm - changed."

"I never asked you to change anything, Spike!"

Spike looked at her sadly, eyes oddly distant, and then suddenly it was William speaking to her. His tone became softer, more musical. "No, you really didn't, did you?"

Buffy sighed. "I saved you because I need you to help me with the First," she said coldly. Spike looked heart sore, and already aching inside with regret at her attempt to push him away, she took a few tentative steps forward.

"I also saved you because…I knew you could be a good man."

His gaze darted up to hers again. "Could you? Really?" _Oh, hell, here comes the sap again…_

"What?"

Do not ask, don't you bloody ask -! 

"Could you…love me?" William whispered.

Arrrgh! The demon roared. You weak sodding poof! Spike was going half-deaf from the inner chaos. It was no wonder the First had so easily driven him bug-shaggin' crazy! He wished Buffy would get mad and knock him out so he could find a frigging moments peace. It would be worth a broken nose. He was ready to tear at his hair in frustration. 

"Yes."

He went very still. What? Yes? She said yes! 

_Yeah, just wait, my boy  – there is _always_ a 'but'…always._

"You're already in my heart, Spike. I feel for you," Buffy admitted, "but honestly… I can't see having much of a future with you."

And there it is! 

William crumpled.

Spike fisted the hand he held over his heart.

_Happy now? _The demon snarled at the man._ You've just _completely_ unmanned us. Poor dainty William – why don't you toddle off crying back to your corner now, and let me take care of this?_

William did.

"Thanks, Buff, but I don't want your pity." Spike's mouth twisted scornfully, his eyes narrowed dangerously, daring her to reply.

"You don't have it," she said directly.

_Bitch._ Feeling a nasty pang twist his insides, he turned away from her. "It's just as well. Our kind of relationship plays hell with romance, right? It'd never work. It'd be a bloody nightmare, you fallin' for me. Probably make me stop drinkin', smokin', tell me I can't play kitten poker anymore…" He could almost hear her rolling her eyes at that last bit.

"Spike, you _can't_ play kitten poker anymore. You feel too guilty. Remember when Clem came to visit you at Xander's, and said something about it, and you started crying – then there was Mr. Winky, the neighbors one-eyed tabby that Giles accidentally backed over -  "

_Poor Mr. Winky…_

Spike looked at her over his shoulder, scowling, jaw working furiously, voice grating. "Right then, rub it in, why don't you? Want me to pop off down the kitchen and fetch you some table salt to help it along? It's a banner day for me, innit? The woman I love tells me she can love me but won't let herself, and there's a new humiliation at every turn, a new torture every day – this rate, I'll find out by dusk that I have a handy new talent for knitting doilies. Knitting needles – those'll strike fear in the hearts of our enemies."

"Stop – just stop it." Buffy closed her eyes. "You're hurting yourself. I hate seeing you do that."

Spike shrugged unsteadily, swinging his head back around to stare at the drapes, which hid him from the sun. "Why should you? Been doin' it for the past three years, haven't I? Never minded one way or another before."

 "You know, there's a saying," Buffy began quietly. "'Even unreturned love has its silver linings'."

_She sounds like bleedin' William, now._ "Yeah, well, you wouldn't know, would you? Just…leave me alone, Buffy. Stop trying to make yourself feel better by feedin' me platitudes. You don't have to. M'not worth it."

"You're doing it again! Will you _stop_?!"

Spike turned at her near scream, an expression of surprise on his pale face.

"Stop what?"

"Just – stop whatever it is you're doing! It's like - like you keep switching personalities, back and forth, making me feel bad for you one second, then making me want to walk away from you the next! It's driving me crazy!"

Crossing his arms over his aching chest, Spike cupped each shoulder with the opposite hand, almost as if he were hugging himself. He smirked half-heartedly at the pained confusion on Buffy's face. "Guess that's what happens when there's essentially two different entities trying to exist in the same body. Don't feel bad – it's been driving me barking, too, what with William spouting his romantic drivel, and the demon threatening to stake itself if it has to listen to another bloody word."

"Are you telling me that you're…possessed?"

William was insulted. Beg your pardon! 

Spike laughed shortly. "Yeah, guess you could say that."

"That explains a lot, actually. So. What's he like?"

"Who? Will?" _She wants to know about Will? What the hell._

"I'm just…tell me."

"You'd be disappointed. He's noone you'd be interested in, love. Truly a damned sorry excuse for a man. Book-ish sort, painfully proper, poofy hair, god-awful wire-frame specs, definitely not a devotee of the blood sports - which is becoming a real pain in the ass," Spike added under his breath.

"Why didn't you ever tell me this before?" Buffy's hazel eyes were watchful.

Spike forced a slow, 'evil' grin. "Everyone secretly loves the bad guy, ain't that right? Besides, why leave myself open to the predation of scavengers, eh?"

"This William…he sounds - sweet," she took a few steps nearer, and his skin prickled. Then he realized what she had said.

"Bugger that!"

"What?" Buffy looked amused.

"Forget it, bull's-eye into the round file with that one. Don't encourage him - and don't call him 'sweet'! Sweet is what girls like you call men who are nice but boring. He's a pathetic little git, always has been."

"But, he's you. A part of you, right?"

He arched a brow suspiciously, tilting his head. "Unfortunately. Why the interest?"

"I'm just curious about any part of you that isn't deadly, immoral, or opportunistic."

"Will an' me…we have a lot more in common these days than you think, pet."

Buffy was right in front of him now, and she had the loveliest expression on her face as she gazed up at him – it was soft, serene – it made his hands itch from wanting to touch her, hold her, kiss her.

God, it's been so long…please, give me this minute, this second… 

"I think it's true," she murmured after a mesmerizing moment. "The eyes really are the windows to the soul."

Spike bent his head toward hers, just a little bit. Just to be a little closer…"Can you see mine, love?"

"Yes…God, yes, and…it's crazy, but I think…I think I see me, too," Buffy whispered breathlessly. Her eyes dropped to his lips, and he instinctively parted them.

"Tell me."

Spike took a chance and snaked his arms around her waist. She gasped and he drew her tight against him, feeling her heart thundering against his chest.

The moment was exquisite, even the pain of knowing it couldn't last, but he was desperate enough to take advantage of it. "Tell you what, Buffy?" _I love you._

"Tell me I can't have you," she gasped out, eyes wide.

Spike could have sworn his heart gave a lurch. He lowered his head another inch, lips barely brushing hers. "You can't have me," he breathed unconvincingly, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

"T-tell me why?" Buffy closed her eyes.

"I'm dead, I'm a vampire…I'm – " he kissed her lightly, teasingly, and withdrew, " – a very _bad_ man."

"Uh-huh," she said weakly.

"I want to drink you, eat you…all of you," he nipped her lip, soothed it with his tongue.

"Keep going."

God, he'd never stop. "Rupert and the whelp hate me." He kissed his way down the tender underside of her jaw, thumbs kneading the soft jut of her hips.

Buffy was panting. "That's…a given."

Spike nibbled on her ear. "_You_ hate me?"

"I…don't hate you…" Her hands came up to clutch his shoulders, and he groaned at the feel of her.

"Well, I do have a rotten temper."

"There's that…Spike?"

_Sweet Jesus, she just moaned my name!_ "Yeah, love?"

"Just kiss me – "

Bam, bam, bam! 

"Buffy?"

Dawn was at the door.

Spike froze, and Buffy caught her breath before slowly dropping her hands.

The sudden withdrawal actually caused him physical pain. "Buffy," he whispered pleadingly, urgently. "Don't – "

"Buffy? Are you in there? Giles is on the phone!"

Spike let his head fall back on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, and sighed heavily, forcing his hands to release her. They hovered in the air inches away from her body, and then he curled them into fists and let them drop to his sides.

"Come on, Buffy! Oh, God – you aren't boinking Spike again, are you?"

Buffy stepped away, and it was an absolute agony to let her. She cleared her throat. "I'm here, Dawn – I'll be down in a second."

"Whatever!"

Spike listened to the girl stomp away, and waited for the inevitable, waited for Buffy to walk away from him again.

"I – have to go now. I'll be back – we have to talk about what happened. The First a-and all."

"Yeah." Spike drew in a breath and looked at her again. "I'm thinkin' maybe I'll stay up here. M'not fit company for the sprogs at the moment."

"Right. You do that." Buffy walked to the door, and opened it. She stepped into the hall, and Spike just had to say something.

"You want to know another thing me an' Will have in common? No? Well, I'll tell you anyway, just for giggles. He had a soul, and he never got the girl, either…"

Buffy's entire heart was in her eyes for just an instant before she said quietly, "I think you will, Spike. Get the girl…maybe. Someday."

A corner of his lips lifted. He stared at her, bemused.

Buffy closed the door.

~*~*~*~

_We are real, and the world is not as we would wish it to be._ – Karen Ranney

~*~*~*~

 End


End file.
